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"Emma?" Skandor asks, gently giving the aloof priestess a nudge.

"Mmm?" she responds, turning her head very slowly toward the Sword Bearer while humming the tune. "Isn't it <hiccup!> beautiful?"

The priestess' eyes focus for a moment, somewhat surprised that she missed a planning session, but they quickly become distant again with the lull of the bard's music. 'Oh well,' she thinks to herself, 'Elloharin handled the altercation with the man at the bar just fine...and they don't really need me to help plan an ambush. Storm said he had experience with that sort of thing anyway...'

Somewhere inside, it surprises Emma that she doesn't feel a whole lot of concern about the Dwarf's shady past right at that moment. Normally, she would have at least chatted with him about it. Maybe it had something to do with why his family in the Raimead Mountains didn't accept him anymore? But finally, she shrugs off the question and her feelings, taking another gulp of rum from her cup. 'I like this drink,' she thinks, licking her lips, 'It tastes better than just ordinary wine...'

She waves to the bartender for another...

As the bartender walks towards Emma with a new drink, Skandor intercepts the man, handing him payment for the drink intended for Emma, and takes the drink from the bartender. Turning, the sword-bearer approaches Emma with the mug. He pulls a chair up close to her, and sits. He fidgets for a moment, then speaks to her softly, in a whisper, so as few people as possible can hear.

"Lady Emma, you are losing your senses, and we are in need of you. Anhur is in need of you. This," he nods down towards the cup, "Is not going to help you, or us . As the Scrolls state, 'One not in charge of their mind, is not in charge of their actions, or the situation.'" With that, he gently tilts the cup next to her, pouring its contents onto the floor.

"Awwww..." Emma says, watching the rum spill to the floor in fascination, "You're a mess, Sword Bearer...I mean, you made a mess." The priestess smiles dreamily at her own slip of the tongue. Then her attention once more returns to the bard's music.

Skandor sighs, and continues to keep Emma 'company' while she listens to the bard, until the group rises to depart. But he makes sure she receives no further alcohol. "We need you, Shield Maiden. We need you clear of mind and thought, sharp of wit and conscience. Come now, recite with me the first Verse of the Prayer to Anhur..." Skandor says as he leans in close so that they might pray together, reciting the first lines of a prayer he and the Shield Maiden have each recited a thousand times.

For some reason, Emma can't quite seem to keep up with the paladin. Her mind seems willing, but her body keeps betraying her as she stumbles over the lines. Finally, she just follows his lead, repeating whatever he says...and still getting it wrong occasionally.

Patiently, the paladin recites the holy prayer, hoping to draw her attention back to the here and now. He watches to make sure she doesn't fall over, pass out, fall out of her chair, or any other such tragedy.

Emma squints at the light of the bonfires, putting a hand to her head. Her vision swims for just a moment and she winces with the pain of her beginning headache. 'It's a good thing I didn't drink anymore of that rum,' she thinks, 'Or I'd be drunk!' The notion seems funny to her and she involuntarily gives a small chuckle, quickly putting her hand to her mouth.

Alara jerks her head in Emma's direction, a scowl furrowing her forehead. The comments of the man in the bar have put Alara in an especially dark foul mood. She nearl reaches over to cover Emma's mouth herself before Emma does so herself.

Hannibal waits patiently at the rear of the party, anticipation for the coming battle making him shake eagerly.

"Shhh..." Emma quietly reminds herself and those around her in the darkness. Her hand tightens its grip on her short bow. She had never really put the weapon to much use yet. 'Tonight will be the night,' she thinks. She looks around at everyone else, and asks, "So what's the plan again?"

Skandor notes with some sadness Emma's apparent lack of faculties. He thinks for a moment to ask the others if it would be best for her to remain far away from the action, safe. But he knew, as they knew, that she would be needed. Instead, the paladin remains close to his charge, paying extra care to see that she does not get hurt...or hurt herself.

Skandor has no missile weapons, anyway. He guards and protects Emma as closely as possible, as is his duty. His mind races, hoping that this is, indeed, the right caravan! But the others seem inclined to velieve it is so.

"Mast Crayne," he whispers to the mage, hunkering down as close to the ground as he can, "You mentioned your powers of illusion. Is it possible for you to create some sort of illusion here? I was thinking, perhaps, that an illusion to their men of drow sneaking around their camp as we attack...we snipe at them as much as possible, make *sure* some of their men see the illusion, and then we reform, regroup and tactically retreat. This would perhaps instill some fear that Bernigan was being double-crossed! Keeping the illusion of drow just out of their reach, teasing them, scaring them. Causing confusion."

Skandor waits for a moment before explaining further. "All battles begin here," he says, tapping his forehead with one finger. "If we can disrupt their minds, their perceptions of their task, it would greatly affect their thinking, forcing them to make mistakes, and of course, causing them to fight at less efficiency. Demoralizing your enemy is one sure way to start the road to victory. What think you of this, Master Crayne?"

"I think we should either act quickly or move farther away from the fire," Alara says in a whisper. She casts a sidelong glance at Emma before saying, "If we stay here too long we're bound to be spotted...if we can see them, they'll be able to see us. Either we act now, or we retreat to plan and come back. Besides, we don't even know if this is the right caravan. It would be a pity to attack innocent men simply looking for cows." Alara slips her long bow from over her shoulder, keeping it ready just in case.

"Good suggestion Skandor and one that is well noted," Crayne whispers in response to the paladin's comment. "The trouble is, though, I haven't currently got the spell in my repertoire, but when I have time later perhaps I can use it in the way you suggest."

Crayne then turns to the rest of the group through the deep grass. "As you all say a hit and run tactic seems the most appropriate at this point! Thus, I believe we start this plan now whilst they are unexpecting. If we can take out two or three then their numbers will be dwindled the next time we meet with them. Perhaps when one of them goes to toilet or perhaps one of them patrols the camp we can take our opportunity. For isn't it usual for a group such as this to have men patroling?" Crayne asks directing the question at the warriors.

"Now!" he says, "I have a spell which will make an area invisible that will be focused on me. Those close in the vicinity of me will be invisible too. Although I myself will not be able to fight for it will dispel the invisibility, maybe two or three should come with me. Then we can attack this person being careful to keep him or her silent. If we can pick off a few tonight then we can come back later and do some more damage! What do you all think?"

Crayne then adds, "Also, I have an individual invisibility spell too! If somebody wants it then say!" Crayne then looks to Karelth, "If we get in trouble use the ring Karelth. Focus your mind and think of the nearby stream!"

Then focussing his eyes in the direction of the camp, Crayne tries to use his well trained vision to pick up any emanations of magic coming from the camp. The distance between him and the camp is a problem, though, and while he thinks he can sense something--something small, he guesses--he can't be exactly sure where in the camp this emanation is coming from, or what kind of emanation it is. To discern those, he'd have to be closer to the camp, but at the moment that would be too dangerous.

Refocussing his eyes for normal vision, and shaking his head to clear his mind. He does his best to look around the area for any patrols, but the darkness and calm swaying of the tall grass makes it difficult. Wouldn't there be some kind of patrol out there right now? Crayne thinks there must be, but tightens his jaw in frustration when he can't spot it.

Elloharin watches all these proceedings curiously, it will be his first big battle with the Six, and indeed the first time he has ever fought over twenty foes at once. He is nervous, and excited and taut like the string of his new short bow. He peers ahead into the darkness, hoping his infravision will reveal more details about the camp.

Indeed, his better night vision does offer some advantage, for he can see a group of five men walking away from the fire, crossbows and long swords in hand, to the south west. "A patrol," he mutters to himself.

"A fine idea," Hannibal mutters, slipping through the warriors to the front of the group. Turning to Crayne and Canter, "Find cover in those trees over there (points to best cover in area), Storm and I will circle the camp and get a better look at what we are up against. Specifically I will look for Bernigan as he will probably be the only one we will recognize as part of the group. That done we will return to you to devise a plan."

Not waiting for an answer, Hannibal draws twin daggers and nods to Storm. For a moment one of the daggers appears notably different from the other, but in the dim lighting it is hard to tell and Hannibal quickly slips the blade into his sleeve.

Storm crouches in the tall grass next to his companions, peering through a stern visage at the encampment. They were actually doing it! 'Those Caerloon Red Dragon Blood Clan bastards really be stealin' our minin' ore!' Storm's teeth clench as the thought grows in his head. He was just about to suggest it himself when Hannibal recruits him to go on a spying mission.

Storm agrees to the plan with a quick "Aye," and begins to creep off right behind Hannibal, when Alara grabs him by the shoulder and whispers in his ear.

"Don't let him try to take out Bernigan without the rest of us. I don't think he would, but sometimes emotions can be overwhelming," she says.

Storm narrows his eyes and shakes off Alara's hand on his shoulder. "Don't ye be presumin' ta know what I be doin', elf. I make me own choices." He creeps off before she can reply.

A few seconds later, though, as Storm crawls away from the rest of the party behind Hannibal, Storm feels a pit in his stomach. He recalls the recent conversations about the Blood Clan and the dwarves, and what must be done for the sake of the kingdom. He looks to Hannibal, crawling in front of him and remembers his story with Bernigan, and what the treacherous criminal has inflicted upon this man's life.

Moving quickly, Hannibal makes for the treeline and cover. He, with Storm close by, works his way through the trees and around the camp. At intervals he bellies-up to the perimeter for a better look at the caravans men before returning and making his way through the trees again. He depends on Storm's keen eye to watch for sentry's posted in the trees while he does the identification of the caravan.

Alara watches Hannibal and Storm walk off for a moment. She looks at the rest of the party briefly before turning towards the tree cover Hannibal indicated before. She begins making her way slowly towards it, keeping her body down in the grass as much as possible. She turns her head slightly to keep an eye on the camp in case Hannibal and Storm, or the party are spotted.

Skandor watches Hannibal and Storm slink off, his eyes darting from the departing pair, to the mage, to Emma. His eyes dart to Alara, who crawls through the grass towards the trees. Their group was now divided into three smaller groups, and the paladin silently hopes that Hannibal and Storm are not discovered.

"Master Crayne," the paladin asks, "Shall we head to the trees?" The paladin, following Alara's path and mode of sneaking, guides Emma as quietly as possible towards the trees Hannibal indicated.

"I think we must ascertain whether or not this is the right caravan," Elloharin suggests as the others move away from the camp toward the tress, which are located about seventy yards south west. "Perhaps the mage's illusion skills could help us in this respect. Alara and I are supposed to be delivering cows. Of course, I wonder now, if he meant cows, or whores, let us assume cows. In that case, perhaps the mage could cast us some imaginary cows, which Alara and I would bring to the camp. There we would get a much closer look at the camp, and learn more of their intentions. Also, we would certainly provide a distraction, should Hannibal and Storm wish to sneak up behind some of them and cut a few throats."

Then another thought occurs to the elf, and he shares it as he and the others continue toward the trees. "Unless we intend to slaughter this party in one go, then we should have an escape route planned, and a point to meet at should we become separated."

Storm feels torn. The group, or Hannibal? Storm knew that if he was in Hannibal's spot, Bernigan probably would have been dead a long time ago. Storm wouldn't have been so easily swayed by the other members of Rinder's Six, he knew. Looking again at Hannibal, Storm suddenly felt a huge deal of respect for the man. To face the target of all his life force's hatred and be able to restrain himself...that was self-control that Storm knew he could probably never muster. But now, still, he was torn over what to do.

He crawls up to Hannibal, tapping him on the back of the foot, getting him to slow down. Looking back over his shoulder and confirming that the two of them are far enough from the rest of the party so that none of them can hear, Storm whispers lightly into Hannibal's ear. "Bernigan...I's gotta know. What ye be plannin' if we run into the bugger? The others...want him alive. But I be with ye. Ye tell me what ye be doin', an' I got yer back." Storm waits, looking at Hannibal for an answer.

Hannibal looks back at his Dwarven friend, seeing the genuine concern in his eyes. It meant a lot to Hannibal that he had friends like Storm and Canter now that he could depend on, no matter what. It had been a long time since he had had someone like that in his life, not since...

Shaking those thoughts from his mind Hannibal gives his friend a smile. "If the opportunity presents itself you can be sure I will take it!" He says quietly but with a sense of deadly determination. "Should the opportunity come though, Id rather you not get involved if you can...just in case Emma decides to carry through on her threat."

"Not gettin' involved? Ha! I be involved, and I ain't be a proud dwarf if I don't back ye up." Storm smiles his half-empty toothy smile, and nods in confirmation. "Arright," he whispers, "Say...er, by the way, if the others be wantin' proof o' the right caravan, ye's want me ta head over to thems wagons and take something o' whatever be in them back to the group? I could be liftin' a piece o' ore no problem." He winks the human thief's way. "What think ye?"

Hannibal nods in agreement, "That's not a bad idea and you would be just the guy for the job. The only way that happens though is if it's a sure thing. I'm not willing to give up our element of surprise just to prove to the others that we are right. Should we not get the chance then they will simply have to take our word for it."

"Aye, be soundin' good to me. I'll be keeping me eyes open fer a chance. Fer now, let's go see what we can see!"

Creeping up to the camp, heading north and slightly to the east, Hannibal and Storm slowly make their way through the tall grass. Storm's smaller, dwarven stature helps to keep him below the level of the grass, though Hannibal has to hunch over a bit more. As they get closer to the camp, popping up out of the grass every now and then for a quick look, they begin to gain a better understanding of the situation.

Five men, armed with crossbows and long swords, have definitely begun to move away from the camp, heading south west--toward the treeline!--on patrol. There are a number of men sitting around on logs and tree stumps near the fire, perhaps ten to fifteen in total, Storm spots some kind of illumination coming from one of the tents, though he is unsure of how many men are inside.

"Hey, Slint!" one of the men sitting by the fire calls out toward the illuminated tent.

Storm's head immediately pops up. Slint! That was a name from his past...a very dark time in his past. And if Slint was here, was Nightshade here as well? Could their branch of the Clan have united with Bernigan's and Jordice's? Remembering his dark past, Storm growls quietly and closes his fist.

"Yeah, what?" a head pops out from the tent. In the cool breeze, the flap is blown open and for just an instant, Hannibal and Storm can see inside clearly.

Both narrow their eyes simultaneously. Storm tightens his jaw: indeed, the man speaking from the tent was Slint. And he was not going to leave this camp alive.

Hannibal also sets his stance, for his eyes scan past Slint to the other faces in the tent. And his eyes fall on the face of the man he has waited for so long to see again: Bernigan.

Snapping out of his reverie, Storm taps Hannibal on the shoulder, indicating with gestures that he is going to sneak up to one of the wagons and reach in for a handful of ore. Nodding, Hannibal lets his friend go, and in the meantime, creeps closer to hear the rest of the conversation.

"When's those horses Nalpac got gonna arrive?" the first man calls over his shoulder, not rising from his seat.

Slint exhales loudly, then turns to look back into the tent. A moment later he appears again. "Says within the hour. Sit tight. We eat well tonight and make good time in the morning. The drow won't wait, and we can't lose too much time or the coronation will go off before we're ready."

Coronation?! Hannibal furrows his brow. This was new. What did it mean? Maybe one of them should be kept alive just to figure that out. Definitely not Bernigan, though. Maybe this Slint character.

Seeing Storm returning, Hannibal begins to back away from the camp and rejoin his dwarven friend. Looking into his hand, he can see a lump of shiny black ore, hard as a rock. Slapping Storm on the back, the two begin to head back toward the others at the treeline.

Meanwhile, once Canter, Alara, Crayne, Elloharin, Emma, Delk, and Skandor reunite at the trees, they form a tight circle, looking to Elloharin once he indicates he's got something of importance to say.

"A patrol," the elf states, "just left the camp, moving at a fair pace in this direction. I don't think we've been spotted yet, but we should prepare."

Alara looks over her shoulder, through some low branches. "I see them!" she whispers excitedly, "they'll be here in about five minutes!"

"We wanted to take them out a few at a time," Canter says, looking to Skandor and Crayne. "Perhaps we should start with these five."

"With their patrol missing, it certainly will send a scare to the rest," Skandor agrees.

"Good," Canter says with a smile, unslinging his composite short bow from over his shoulder. "Emma, you ready?"

"Hmm?" the priestess replies. It was quite difficult to follow their conversation, they all spoke so darn quickly! And with this headache the slightest of sounds was like an avalanche. "Yeah, the patrol, okay. Just keep quiet..."

"Uh-oh," Storm says, stopping Hannibal as they make their way to the trees.

"What is it?"

"They got company. The patrol."

"I'm sure they can handle it."

"Steady..." Skandor whispers, peeking through the tree branches and squinting his eyes in the darkness. "Steady...fire!"

Alara lets loose on her long bow, sending an arrows streaming through the air toward the leading patrol member, as was their plan. The arrow misses, sailing just overhead. The half-elf immediately follows it with another, but this one, too, misses its target.

At the same time, Canter fires two shots from his composite short bow. The missiles leave the treeline and both strike their target, just a few yards away. The first hits the patrolman's leg with a thump, and the second lands in his chest for a thud. The patrolman is obviously surprised and shaken, but does not fall.

Elloharin fires with his new short bow, sending two newly acquired arrows toward his target, the third patrolman. The first is a good hit, landing in the man's side. But the second misses as the man leans over to see what hit him; the arrow flies right over his shoulder.

Emma, in her pained state, does her best to focus on her target with her bow. Training calmly, just like she was taught at the Temple, she lets loose with her fingers, sending the arrow on its way. It's a hit, and with a slight smile, the priestess reloads and shoots again, striking the same target again. Before she can celebrate, though, another wave of pain overtakes her forehead and she closes her eyes, silently reprimanding herself for drinking all that rum!

Seeing as the first volley is finished, Captain Delk leaps out from the trees, attacking the lead patrolman (whom Alara couldn't hit with her bow). His long sword finds an open spot on the surprised patrolman's armor quickly, and lands a good blow. The foe is beaten, but not yet defeated.

Striking back, the lead patrolman lashes out at the Dwarven Captain with his own long sword. He scores a successful hit, striking the dwarf hard. But Delk is a true warrior, and one hit alone is not enough to even shake his foundation.

The second patrolman leaps through the trees in the direction of the arrow fire, landing just a few feet from Elloharin. Crossbow already cocked, he fires at the elf, catching El in the upper arm with a crossbow quarrel (3 hp damage).

The third patrolman follows the second, entering the trees near Skandor, whom he attacks straight away. But the paladin was already in a defensive posture, protecting Emma, as was his charge. That posture helps him now, as he easily deflects the attacker's blade.

The fourth patrol member spies Alara through the branches and aims his crossbow at her. He fires, but the click is just loud enough for the half-elf to hear. She turns her head in his direction and immediately dives to the side, but not quite soon enough. The quarrel skims the back of her shoulder, opening up a shallow wound (1 hp damage).

The final patrol member trains his crossbow at Canter, but Canter sees him and quickly hides behind a nearby tree trunk, letting the incoming quarrel strike the wood instead of his own flesh.

Alara trains her bow upon the fourth patrolman, who is still on the other side of the tress. Aiming exactly, she lets go of the bowstring and watches down the shaft of the arrow as it flies straight and true. Landing in the center of the patrolman's chest, she eyes him as he spits out a mouthful of blood and then falls backwards into grass; dead.

Quickly she cocks another arrow. Searching for another target, her eyes land upon the fifth patrolman, who had just fired at Canter with his crossbow. She fires, but the arrow misses.

Fortunately, though it didn't do any damage, Alara's arrow was enough of a momentary distraction that Canter's two arrows, fired at very same enemy, both strike successfully and strike hard. In quick succession they pound the foe, and soon he is covered in dirt, grass, and his own blood as he lies liefeless in the grass.

Elloharin, on the other hand, fires his bow at the second patrolman, the one who had just attacked him. However, the patrolman is quick and moves around just too much, and both of El's arrow miss their target.

Emma, too, is frustrated as her two arrows, trained upon the lead patrolman (who is fighting hand-to-hand against Delk), miss. But the arrows keep the adversary moving too fast to evade, and Delk capitalizes on that momentum. Thrusting his long sword into just the right spot, and then lifting up in a strong pull, Delk slits open the man's stomach, causing his organs to spill out upon his feet...for his final vision of the world.

Skandor, replying to the attack he just deflected, goes after the patrolman before him with his two-handed sword. But the patrolman is good, and with some quick movements, blocks Skandor's thrusts and parries well.

Hannibal, arriving upon the scene, dagger in hand (though not the unusual dagger he had hidden in his sleeve), moves to pounce upon the same patrolman El had fired upon. But just as he had evaded the elf's arrows, this enemy also moves aside just in time to deflect Hannibal's attack, leaving the two squaring off against each other in the tall grass.

Storm, at the same time, stands up in the grass, his new crossbow at the ready. He takes aim upon the same patrolman facing Hannibal and fires. He is frustrated, however, when his bolt does not strike the patrolman but settles in the grass somewhere beyond.

Crayne, seeing an opening, jumps out from behind a tree, staff at the ready. He strikes the enemy battling Skandor, scoring a good hit with his staff (though he chooses not to engage the staff's magical powers).

After evading Elloharin's attack, Hannibal's attack, and Storm's, the second patrolman (one of two left alive by now) turns his attention back to Hannibal, intending to unload his cocked crossbow bolt at the elf before screaming aloud and raising the alarm. He fires into the trees, but El sees it coming and moves aside to allow the quarrel to fly past.

The other remaining patrolman, having just been walloped by Crayne, turns his attention on the mage, striking him hard with his long sword. Crayne is stunned by the hit, but does not feel any pain...just the tingling sensation of magical energies dissipating. Then he remembers: 'My armor spell! It must be working!'

"Quick!" Alara whispers loudly, "before he can scream!"

But Hannibal is already thinking of that. Seeing the second patrolman, having just shot at Elloharin, ready to yell aloud and raise the alarm back at the camp, the thief adjusts his grip on his dagger and leaps at the man's back. Landing there accurately, he drives his dagger into the base of the foe's neck, killing him instantly and before he can alert the rest of the caravan.

Skandor, at the same time, swings his large sword around through the air, intimidating the last remaining enemy standing before him. Watching the Blood Clansman's eyes grow wide with fear, Skandor decides that now is the best time to strike. Suddenly jerking his sword out of the circular spin, he brings it down upon his adversary's neck at a diagonal angle, sending a spurt of blood up and into the air with the impact. The sheer momentum of the hit sends the dead enemy directly to the dirt at the paladin's feet.

And with that, all five members of the patrol are dead.

Turning to see Storm arriving upon the scene, strapping his crossbow to his belt, Alara goes to him, asking, "What did you learn at the camp?"

Storm smiles his toothy smile, knowing that she asking not only about the camp, but also about Hannibal's intentions. Yet the dwarf had made a choice, and he would not sell out his friend. So he chooses to answer only one of her implied questions. "I be learnin' this." He reaches into his pocket, pulling out the rock of adamantine and holding out before him.

Delk then arrives at Storm's side, breathing heavily. His eyes grow wide for a brief second and then he calms himself, nodding and looking to Crayne. "Fine then. This be the one, that there be from my mine!"

"Shh!" Elloharin responds, holding a finger to his lips. He is looking out from behind the treeline, trying to discern whether or not anyone in the camp is aware of the happenings out here, quite a distance away. He can't see very well at this distance, but he doesn't think the Clansmen at the camp know...yet.

"See anything?" Skandor asks the elf.

"No," El replies, turning away from his lookout position to face the others as they gather behind the concealment of the branches. "I think we're okay. That was fast enough and quiet enough and I don't think they heard. They probably won't notice the patrol is missing for another thirty minutes or so. But if these five don't check in, they're gonna start suspecting something."

"So that gives us about thirty minutes to pull off another attack," Hannibal says, wiping the blood off his dagger onto a leaf. "And we seem in good enough shape to do it, right?"

Emma looks to Hannibal, knowing exactly why he wants to attack again. She had to admit, they did survive the patrol fairly well. True, some of their number had been hit, but they suffered no major losses. Still, their plans was for a few hit-and-run attacks.

But given the choice between fighting with Hannibal and fighting with her searing headache, the headache takes precedence.

"What do we think then," Canter addresses the group. "Go in for another attack or pull back and follow them out in the morning?"

1. HP Status:

Canter: 36/36, Alara: 26/26, Crayne: 15/15 (+6 Armor spell), Elloharin: 16/19, Emma: 35/35, Hannibal: 21/21, Skandor: 17/17, Storm: 40/40. Karelth: 11/11, and Delk: 32/38.

~ The Dwarven Blockade: [Archive] [Home] [Previous Turn] [Next Turn] ~

"Hey, Slint!" one of the men sitting by the fire calls out toward the illuminated tent. Storm's head immediately pops up. Slint! That was a name from his past...a very dark time in his past. And if Slint was here, was Nightshade here as well?

Storm feel suddenly nauseous, and his body is racked with a deep shudder. Slint. Slint!! He was here! He'd evaded Storm for so long, and now, inadvertently, by random luck, the evil man was within twenty feet of Storm, and he didn't even realize it. Storm feels suddenly more sick, though, when he realizes the vast significance of the fact that Slint was here. Slint was Bloodclan! And that very well could mean that, in his days with Slint and Nightshade's marauding group, Storm could have been an unknowing member of the...

Storm leaps forward, purely on instinct, his primal self wanting to tear through the tent and rip Slint to shreds. Fortuenately, though, Hannibal was in front of him, and Storm's human friend caught him and averted disaster. Storm looks down to his hands and find that they are holding large chunks of grass, ripped up from the ground in anger as he lept. His teeth grinding and his breathing hard, Storm looks at Hannibal, who's unspeaking, questioning glare asks the question that's on his mind.

Storm swears under his breath in dwarven at the cursed murdered from his past, then quietly, though definitely agitatedly, speaks to Hannibal. "Slint...he be from me own dark days. And I's think..." he swallows hard, again stopping himself from leaping right through the back of the tent with a dwarven battle cry. His next words are barely understandable, as he has to fight back his anger to get the words out. "I didn't be knowin' it, but I's think I used to be...workin' fer...the Bloodclan." He breathes several hard breaths before looking into his friends eyes. "That Slint ain't be livin' past tonight." He looks at Hannibal a moment longer, then creeps backward to make his way back toward the rest of the group, knowing that if he stayed where he was he wasn't going to be able to stay still for long.

Slint was here!!! And maybe he knows where Nightshade is...

Storm doubles his pace back toward the trees, and a few seconds later he sees the patrol engage his companions. He reaches for his new crossbow...

Storm trots back into the trees as the last patrolman is killed, and violently kicks the nearest one out of frustration. Keeping his calm, though (for he does not want to draw any unnecessary questions from Emma or Skandor), he goes about collecting the weapons and ammunition of the dead patrol. He is particularly interested in their crossbow bolts, and he collects all of them that he can off the dead bodies. He offers up to half to Canter, taking whatever the leatherman doesn't want (or just his half of them if Canter does want that many).

'Five down and about twenty to go' Crayne thinks to himself. The next assault would indeed be tougher. The patrol was now gone and the rest of the group would surely stick together. What was still in Rinder's Six's favour was suprise. They were still not aware of the Six's presence. Crayne thinks for a moment as he stares toward the camp, imagining the men drinking and eating. He then looks down to his pouch with the sleeping potion in it that he had made in Seden. 'If I could slip this in their wine!' Crayne thinks.

Emma looks around for a moment with a dazed expression on her face, then finally busies herself with retrieving her arrows. She hesitates over the dead body that contains two of them, but grits her teeth and does her best to pull them back out. Since they had flown true, she figures they must be pretty good ones.

Placing the arrows back in their quiver, she regards her short bow with some newfound respect. It's a weapon she knows she hasn't mastered yet, but having successfully fired it under such harsh circumstances, she feels quite proud of herself. Then another twinge from her headache forces her away from those thoughts.

Catching his breath after seeing the last of the clansmen fall, Skandor wipes the blood off his blade on the armor of the clansmen he was battling. He then sheaths his two-hander over his shoulder.

Elloharin brushes the quarrel from the wound in his arm. His lips screw up as he surveys the surface damage. Then he goes to the dead men and gently closes their eyes, as if trying to memorize each face. Then with a quick smile at Hannibal, he rifles through their pockets and belongings for valuables.

Alara looks at the wound on her shoulder, frowning slightly, more out of concern for her armor than for the wound itself, it was just barely more than a scratch.

Approaching Storm, Skandor looks at the ore piece and watches the reactions of the two dwarves. There could be no mistake: this was indeed the caravan the group was after. His eyes survey Emma's reactions; she was hesitant, distracted. His eyes then dart to Hannibal. What was he thinking, so near his quarry, his arch-enemy? Skandor tries to put himself in Hannibal's shoes. What if he, the disciplined paladin, was so near his own arch-enemy, the one that had affected his life when he was a child? Hannibal seemed calm and in control of his feelings, and for that, the sword-bearer's respect for the man doubled.

"If we engage them again," Emma says, frowning through the pain of her headache, "It won't be as favorable as ambushing a patrol..."

Skandor's brief nostalgic dream breaks and he diverts his attention back to the Shield Maiden. She seems about to say something else, but her mouth snaps shut.

"Not only will they be extremely wary and on their guard," Skandor puts in, "but I would bet that their next patrol might be larger, as well. And, the camp behind them will be on alert to come to the aid of their comrades. A suggestion would be to exercise patience and plan for another attack at another time," he whispers.

Emma motions toward Elloharin, adding, "Our elven friend here suggested Crayne use an illusion to make it seem like he and Alara had shown up to deliver the cows...but unfortunately the Highbrow hasn't prepared that particular spell yet." She blinks, looking around at everyone, as they seem surprised that she had actually been listening.

She thinks quietly for a moment, obviously putting together a strategy, but she seems somewhat hesitant to offer it aloud, unsure of whether her opinion will be seen as positive or negative. She had always voiced her thoughts loudly during planning sessions before, but things feel different now. She isn't sure if her plan will be interpreted as 'guidance from Anhur' or simply good tactical advice. A glance toward Crayne doesn't seem to reassure her.

While the others talk, Skandor takes a moment to pull the fallen caravan guards together, lays their bodies beside each other and places their now-cooling hands on their chests. Standing before their fallen foes, the paladin takes a moment to whisper a small prayer to his fallen enemy, the Ritual of Final Rest. "May your journey be quick, may your judgement be just, may your rest be peaceful."

The young paladin's mind wondered if these men had families, would these men be missed by anyone? He also wondered what had brought them to be guards for Bernigan and his organization in the first place. And, the paladin feared for them, feared for their judgement, which was probably taking place at this very moment, in the Great Hall. "Please judge fairly, oh Lord, and take into account their lives, rather than their last few moments," he whispers to no one in particular.

Looking to the rest of the party Crayne speaks up, "I have an idea! If I sneak up to the camp invisibly and come in from the east using the three wagons for cover I can surely slip some of my potion in the jugs that they are drinking from! That should surely deaden their reflexes at least. Then when I return I say we split our party evenly. One group to the west and the other to the east. I believe we should take advantage of those horses near the wagons primarily. What say we untie them and startle them so they run away? I believe that would cause quite a bit of confusion. It would hopefully provoke some men into departing from the fire to chase the horses. Then soon after having already taken some of the pegs out of the main tent to the west using my ten foot radius invisibility spell we collapse it. With the group split by the men who have gone off to chase the horses and the men startled by the collapsed tent I believe it would be time to strike from the east and west. Again, primarily with long range weapons. Then when we have caused enough damage and we see that Bernigan and his cronies are about to escape from their collapsed tent I suggest we make a run for it again and meet up at a predefined meeting point! What say you all?"

Storm pipes in first after Crayne speaks, unexpectedly before anyone else can. "Aye, I be likin' that idea. I be goin' to the tent," he says with a distinct finality. Images of pouncing on Slint as he is covered by the collapsed tent make Storm antsy for the fight. He begins to fidget.

Alara nods in agreement as she looks around to retrieve her arrows, feeling slightly disgusted at having missed more than once.

Crayne then adds, "I believe if we act now the less on guard they'll ever be! Just like their five patrol men that we see here before us!"

Elloharin replies, "I was thinking something of the same sort myself. If we loose the horses we could gain some valuable confusion. We can either have them run through the camp, scaring and confusing the guards, thus giving them reason to believe in some threat, or we could simply untie and lead them away, so that they believe there is little or no threat. This could withdraw several more people from the camp."

Canter looks to Emma, knowing that the plan forming in front of them is not to her wishes. She had, just moments before, voiced her preference for hanging back and attacking another day. But now she appeared to be biting her lip--literally and figuratively--and not protesting. It is then that Canter fully appreciates the impact the argument on the road has had on the priestess. The woods, the entire night even, seem silent without her.

Looking to the others, the leatherman's son tries to steer a neutral path. "I will go along with the group, I can fight today or tomorrow."

"Then I say today," Hannibal replies, stretching his arms out and cracking his knuckles.

Soon it is set. Crayne rifles through his pack, removing the small vial containing his home-made sleeping potion. His first attempt at creating such items. It was by no means magical, rather it was a combination of certain herbs and spices based upon his readings on the subject. It was untested, but there was no time like the present. Placing the vial carefully in a pocket, he steps to the side and begins to cast the Invisibility spell upon himself. In no time at all the mage's image has disappeared entirely.

"Wait here," Crayne's voice says, an omnipresent whisper though undeniably Crayne. "I'll return straight away once the potion is in the jugs, then we can split into our two groups and commence the attack!"

Nodding blankly (for she knows not where the mage is), Alara replies, "Good luck!"

As he makes his way toward the camp, Crayne does his best to scan the camp for magical emanations. Much to his frustration, however, he finds he cannot. It seems his effort to do so prior to the attack on the caravan used too much effort to perform the task again. Setting his jaw firmly, the mage continues toward the camp, approaching as quietly as he can.

On approach, Crayne soon recognizes the large jug sitting in front of one of the wagons. In fact, one of the men appears to be coming from the jug as Crayne approaches, his mug full of some drink. The mage moves carefully, knowing full well that though he is invisible he is by no means silent. After a few minutes, Crayne is within arm's reach of the jug, and the coast appears clear. Removing the potion slowly from his pocket, he holds his breath as he removes the stopper. Suddenly it slips from his fingertips, being snapped into the air in front of Crayne. But he cannot see it--the stopper is invisible.

For an instant, the mage is in complete panic: should the rubber stopper fall into the jug the sound will surely attract attention. Then, miraculously, the stopper appears in the air above the mage, having emerged from his field of invisibility. Fixing his glare on the rubber piece, Crayne shoots his hand toward it. As he can feel his fingers wrap around it, it immediately becomes invisible once again. Crisis averted.

With a deep breath, the mage begins to pour the liquid into the jug. Slowly and carefully, he does his best to keep the sound of liquid dripping and splashing into liquid to a minimum. After a minute of excruciating tension, the vial is emptied, and Crayne slips it back into his pocket, the job nearly complete.

Calmly, Crayne returns to the others in the trees. The muted snap of a branch on the ground announces his presence. Skandor jumps at the sound, but Crayne's (soothing?) voice places the paladin at ease.

"Come now, the deed is done!" the mage exclaims. "In the time it will take to get into position, hopefully some of them will have had some more to drink."

"Then let us decide," Skandor says, his tone reflecting that he would rather wait before attacking, but also that he will not leave the group. "Who will attack from the east, setting loose the horses, and who from the west, bringing down Bernigan's tent?"

"I must go with the western group," Crayne announces invisibly, "As I am the only one among us capable of the power of invisibility, which will be uniquely useful in the task of bringing down the tent."

"I will go to the east," Emma announces firmly. Then, realizing the harshness of her tone, and its suggested implications, coming right after Crayne's suggestion, she adds, "to see that the horses are set off without issue."

"Then I will go to the east," Skandor says.

"Me too," Delk says, "I not be going near the magic stuff."

Hannibal then speaks. "I'll join you in the west, Crayne. I'd be happy to flatten the tent alongside you."

"I be goin' with ya," Storm chimes in.

"I will go to the west as well," Canter says.

"And I to the east," Alara adds.

"I will join you, my nephew," Karelth says to Crayne.

"And so I will go to the east," Elloharin concludes.

"Careful," Alara says to Skandor as he unties the reins of the horses.

"And keep quiet!" Emma whispers to those kneeling behind her in the grass, Delk and Elloharin.

The horses, meanwhile, are still chewing on mouthfulls of grass, not bothering to notice that they are no longer bound to their post.

"Are you ready?" Crayne whispers. Seeing the nods of the others, the mage begins to quietly cast his other invisibility spell, Invisibility 10' Radius. In a few moments, he notices the images of Hannibal and Storm have also disappeared from view.

"Remember," Karelth reminds his former student, "wait for the horses before bringing down the tent!"

"I know..." Crayne whines, beginning to move off toward the tent. The combined abilities of Hannibal and Storm to move silently helps to keep the invisible strike force nearly undetectable. And within minutes they are just behind the tent, illuminated by candlelight from the inside.

Hannibal can feel his palms sweat. He could make out Bernigan's form in the sillouets on the canvas before him! Perhaps tonight he would avenge the death of his beloved. Melinda's memory would cease to haunt him, and he would know that revenge had been his.

Then, suddenly, there is an uproar from across the camp, on the eastern side. The loud, familiar sound of horses in a state of excitement. A few men sitting around the fire jump to their feet, drawing swords in the process, and looking in the direction of the animals. "What is going on?!" one of them shouts. "Come on, let's go get them back!" But his plea is met by others with drowsy moans...they are not completely out, but certainly not lucid.

"Now!" Crayne whispers, moving in and closing the last ten feet toward the tent.

The commotion and confusion around the fire causes the people inside the tent to jump to their feet in alarm. "What is going on out there?" Bernigan demands. Then he turns his head to face another figure inside the tent.

"Slint," Bernigan says toward the figure, whose back is toward the wall of the tent which Crayne and his group are moving toward, "Go out there and..." his voice trails off as he takes a step closer to Slint. "What the..."

It is then that Crayne realizes it. Why had he not though of it before? The invisibility spell has a ten foot radius. So as he came within ten feet of the tent, he caused the canvas wall of the tent to become invisible too! Bernigan was probably looking straight through Crayne, Hannibal, and Storm, just fifteen feet away!!

"*Weapons!!*" Berigan screams at the top of his voice. Slint spins around, and Crayne, Storm, and Hannibal can now see the inside of the tent clearly, as the canvas between them and the interior is invisible. Slint's narrow eyes search desperately for a foe, his long sword already drawn and at the ready.

"What is taking them so long?" Skandor asks. "The tent is still standing!"

"Wait a minute..." Elloharin whispers. "I think...curses! Someone has raised the alarm on the other side of the camp. I heard it, I swear!"

"Another plan botched..." Emma says cynically under her breath.

"What?" Skandor asks the priestess.

"Nothing. What now?" she replies forcefully. "What about them?!" She points toward the center of the camp. Though four men are sleeping on the ground near the fire, another four are jogging toward the hitching post--and coming straight toward Emma, Skandor, Delk, Alara, and Elloharin's position!

1. Arrow retrieval: Emma was able to salvage 2 arrows. Alara was able to salvage 3 arrows. Bolt retrieval: Canter gets 3 usable bolts, Storm gains 2.

2. In checking the dead soldiers, Elloharin was able to recover their weapons: 2 long swords (fair quality) and three crossbows (fair quality). In addition, he came up with a total of 18 sp.

~ The Dwarven Blockade: [Archive] [Home] [Previous Turn] [Next Turn] ~

Alara keeps her eyes trained on the Clansmen, trying to judge how far they are, wondering if she will have enough time to get off a clean shot with her bow. "Do we engage them up close, or fall back?" she asks. She does not turn her head towards the rest of the party, making it difficult to tell if she is asking anyone in particular.

Emma shakes her head to clear her mind for a moment, looking over the terrain, including their escape route. If they engaged the oncoming men, could they make it over the hill before reinforcements arrived? She squints at Skandor. What did the Sword Bearer think?

Skandor's mind runs through the various lessons he was taught through the years at the Temple. He looks at the coming foes: four. He looks at his own group: five. He looks around and sees only the four approaching men. He also remembers that Crayne, Hannibal, Storm, Canter, and Karelth are depending on them to draw some attention away from the tent.

As close to the ground as possible, Skandor brings his sling around underneath his arm to draw forth his two-hander as quietly and as stealthily as possible, and grips it tightly with both hands, saying a silent prayer quickly to the god of Battles, the Litany of War.

Seeing Skandor ready his heavy blade, Emma's lips tighten into a grim line. The Sword-Bearer had made his decision, and now his Shield-Maiden would be committed to the coming battle as well. She looks toward Alara, wondering if the girl understood. Emma frees her own blade, the same heavy broadsword she'd picked up on her first mission with Rinder's Six.

Then Skandor jumps up, just as the first of the enemies headed their way nears his position. His massive two-handed sword swinging, he attacks. But his timing is off, and his blade swoops through the cool night air just beside the foe.

Emma steps out as well, hanging back to protect Skandor's flank in case one of the oncoming men should attempt such a maneuver. She calls upon Anhur's aid to cast her Holding spell, counting upon it to render up to three of the men defenseless. She realizes as she releases the enchantment that it will also have a nice side-effect, making them unable to raise another alarm. Perhaps they can finish these four quickly?

Casting the spell, Emma can feel the familiar rush of power flow through her. Setting her jaw tightly, she does her best to block out the rest of the world, all her troubles, inside and out, and focus on the task at hand. Her headache was not helping, but as it was beginning to ease the spellcasting was not overly difficult. Soon, the three other approaching Clansmen behind the one that Skandor is facing find themselves stopped in their tracks, mid-stride, and unable to move. Smiling weakly, Emma reminds herself that her powers were still valuable, if unappreciated.

"Well, I guess that answers that question," Alara says as she draws her bastard sword from its sheath and leaps towards the clansmen. She is momentarily relieved to see that three had been mysteriously held in their places, as if frozen in the winter's ice. So she turns toward the enemy fighting Skandor, slashing at him with her blade. Her first pass misses, but she quickly pivots and spins, sending the blade back around for another blow. This one is a hit, tearing a long wound across the man's torso.

Elloharin, considerate of the open wound on his body, readies his bow as the others leap forward. He does find it necessary to retreat a few paces in order to attack with his long range weapon. A few yards removed from the melee, the elf can clearly see three other enemies rushing to the scene, weapons in hand. Narrowing one eye and closing the other, he brings his bow to his chest, anchoring the taught bowstring with one hand just at his chin. He lets the first go, but it flies too high, sailing over the heads of the approaching men. His second shot misses as well, landing just short of their position in the dirt.

Suddenly, before he can even react, Storm is standing there (invisibly) staring one of the eight men he hates more than anyone in the face. This man, one who used and abused Storm's trust for years, getting him to commit atrocities in the name of rogue justice. Things that, knowing the truth, he would have risked his life to prevent. What's worse, it now seems that he might have committed those atrocities in the name of the Blood Clan...

Crayne is astonished as he sees the enemy's tent disappear in front of his eyes, saying out loud, "What the!?!" He now knows that the people within the tent have been alerted. Nevertheless, what is important is that his party are still invisible. He moves his head around unable to see his friends, whispering, hoping that everyone will hear except for those within the tent. "Move back!"

Things were wrong, very wrong! What had originally been a sneak attack was quickly turning into a stand up fight...not Hannibal's specialty! Turning to face Crayne, he mentally kicks himself when he remembers they are all still invisible and he can see no one. Turning back to the tent, Hannibal is frozen for a moment with indecision. He couldn't turn back now, not with the setbacks he had already faced. Pressing a fight here, however, may certainly lead to many deaths...and then he hears Storm scream.

A pain in his mouth wakes Storm from his thought, and he realizes his teeth are clenched so hard that they are starting to ache. As he realizes he's growling quite audibly, he cannot hold in his anger any longer. With a primal scream that shakes the entire campground, Storm leaps (literally) forward, his long sword leading the way and cutting a whole through the invisible tent. If he were not close to being berserk, he would have hoped that his wild, frenzied form suddenly becoming visible would freeze Slint in his tracks. He is not rational, though, and instead the rest of the world disappears around him, and all he sees is the tip of his sword and the mercenary ahead of him.

Crayne attempts to move the 10' radius circle away from the tent so that the tent becomes visible again. It is then that Crayne sees Storm become visible as he slashes through the side of the tent in a bout of rage. Again Crayne says, "What the?"

As Storm delves headlong into the tent, Hannibal is surged back into action. 'Strange,' he thinks, 'how Storm would be so angered by the sight of Bernigan?' Maybe, after all this time, Hannibal's pain had transposed to his smaller friend. Sword and dagger at the ready, Hannibal charges to battle.

Storm lands on the ground just as Slint turns around. Swiping at Slint's sword, Storm can feel the sudden force as the two blades meet. But Slint is a good warrior and strong--Storm had nearly forgotten. Though he intended to knock Slint's sword right out of his hand, he cannot. The loud clang of the two metals serves to wake whoever else might have been dozing off (naturally) nearby.

Hannibal charges into the tent, following Storm's lead. Suddenly becoming visible just in front of Bernigan, his focussed eyes land upon the scheming diplomat with pure hatred. But he also scans the tent, seeing another formidable foe there as well, the man named Nalpac. Deciding against an all out attack, Hannibal opts for the quick strike against Bernigan and then plans to fall back to cover Storm's flank. Thrusting rapidly, Hannibal's long sword is slapped aside by Bernigan's blade. The diplomat chuckles as Hannibal takes a step backward and toward his dwarven friend. Seeing Bernigan and Nalpac slowly step forward, he begins to wonder whether this was all one big mistake...

At the moment Crayne is careful to steer the invisible circle so that it dosen't come into contact with anything else. "I think that spell needs a little more research!" Crayne thinks to himself a little displeased at its outcome. Despite Storm's incredible outburst, Crayne knows that he still remains invisible (Canter and Karelth are still kneeling in the grass a few yards away) and at the moment he hopes for it to stay that way. He wasn't about to endanger the rest of the party's lives just for Storm at the moment.

But to his astonishment, Crayne next sees Canter rushing past him, bastard sword in hand, heading for the tent. "What the?!" the mage says to himself again. His eyes land on Karelth, whose head is peeking up from the grass. The older man simply shrugs, his eyes wide in complete amazement at the scene before him.

Canter runs past, weapon at the ready, and enters the tent through the hole Storm has provided. He is immediately faced with Nalpac, and attacks the man outright, without hesitation. 'Take action,' Canter thinks to himself. With two quick motions, he slices through the foe's skin, opening up wounds on Nalpac's arm and chest. "That was good action," Canter says outloud, congratulating himself.

Then the Clansman fighting against Skandor retaliates, swinging his own sword against that of the paladin. But the paladin's training is not easily forgotten, and his prior Litany of War did not go unheard; Skandor blocks the man's attack with ease, setting himself up for his next move.

Delk meets up with the first of the second wave of Clansmen moving east, the same one at which Elloharin had shot his arrows. The Clansman gets the first attack, striking the sturdy dwarven Captain with strength. Delk is shaken by the blow (6 hp damage) but not defeated. He is, after all, a dwarf!

Meanwhile, the other two enemies in the second wave stop in their tracks, raising crossbows in front of them. One takes aim at Alara, but cannot get a good shot off. His quarrel missing, firmly planting itself in the dirt near the girl. The other aims at Emma. His shot is successful, his projectile landing with a dull thud in Emma's thigh. (4 hp damage)Instantly in pain, the priestess reaches for the quarrel, looking to pull it out as quickly as possible so as to continue the (ill-fated?) strike.

At the same time, the camp is in utter chaos. Men are reaching for weapons, shouting, and running in all directions. Some appear to be trying to wake their sleeping comrades. Others are heading east, toward the wagons and the horses former positions. Others, meanwhile, are heading west, toward the commotion in their leader's tent, from which they have only heard one very strange battlecry and one really loud clang of swords.

But in tent, things are serious. Taking another step toward Canter, Nalpac presses his own attack. His blade strikes the leatherman's son hard, ripping open his shirt and scraping his skin painfully. (5 hp damage)

Bernigan, meanwhile, matches Hannibal's steps, keeping the distance between them close. He appears calm, but then suddenly lashes out with his long sword. The move, combined with his calm visage of just milliseconds before, is enough to catch Hannibal. The diplomat hits the thief, and Hannibal cringes with the pain but vows to continue--this may be his only chance! (4 hp damage)

Slint, at the same time, recognizes the face of the unruly dwarf before him. "Storm..." he growls, "Good old Storm. How I've longed to see you again. And I could not have asked for better circumstances..." as if to punctuate his words, he attacks, hitting Storm hard. The dwarf is shaken but not beaten. (5 hp damage)

Having set up his next move perfectly, Skandor can already feel it; with his impressive strength, he swings his massive blade around for an upward strike. The sword strikes the foe before him with incredible force, catching the man between the legs and lifting him clear off the ground! The paladin can feel--as if the sword were an extension of himself--as the blade cuts through his enemy's clothing and eventually into the skin. By the time his dead body lands on the ground a few feet away, a large bleeding wound runs from his groin to his chest.

Looking up from her wounded leg, Emma whips her hair back behind her, cold sweat pouring from her face. Somehow the heat of this battle failed to warm her. Still, she focuses her energy on the source of that crossbow quarrel, calling upon her Command spell. Looking him straight in the eye she calls out, "Surrender!" toward the Clansman. To her relief, the man looks momentarily confused, then an emotionless expression takes over as he drops his crossbow, raises his empty hands to his head and stands still. That should hold him, at least for the moment.

Seeing Skandor literally lift his adversary from the ground right before her eyes, Alara decides it is time to move on; her talents with her bastard sword could be put to better use on Clansmen who is still alive! Turning her attention to the Clasman who shot at her with his crossbow, the half-elf rushes toward him, planning her move on the way. Faking to the right, she quickly spins to the left, thrashing at her foe and jumping back, smiling as she sees traces of his blood on the end of her sword.

"These will be the last shots I can get off," Elloharin tells himself, noting the silence around him as all the action is taking place yards away. "For soon the battle will be too chaotic to avoid hitting one of my friends...friends..." he repeats the word.

Placing those thoughts aside, he concentrates his aim on the same enemy who evaded his arrows just moments before. Confident this time, he fires one arrow, then another. This time, both fly true, striking the Clansman hard and with great speed. He stumbles backwards, but does not fall. Still, El considers, it won't take too much more effort to finish him off.

And it doesn't take long for someone to do just that. Delk had been fighting that very same foe, and seeing his enemy distracted by the two arrows suddenly sticking out of his belly, the dwarf takes advantage of the distraction and presses his attack. With a quick move he kneels and thrusts, his sword entering the man's stomach at the same location as the arrows. The three hits are too much to handle, and the man falls hunched forward over Delk's blade, dead.

In the tent, too, the battle is percolating. Canter, quick on his feet, nearly dances around the tent while squaring off against Nalpac. When he finally does make his move, though, he finds it blocked by his skilled adversary. Cursing under his breath, he immediately switches to a more defensive posture, anticipating Nalpac's next move.

"This'll be a long time comin', ye son of a bitch," Storm growls as he eyes Slint. "Where be Nightshade?"

"Nightshade?" Slint replies with a laugh, "Now there's a name I haven't heard in years..." But Slint doesn't get to answer any more fully, for Storm is pouncing. The dwarf's blade slashes at his chest; Slint jumps back, but not far enough, and he can feel his blood begin to seep to the surface as Storm cuts him open.

Now Hannibal is the one torn. He wants to help his friend, Storm. And he wants to watch the dwarf's back. But in order to do so he would neglect Bernigan, who at the very moment is bearing down on him! It occurs to the thief that for a moment he didn't even care to kill Bernigan, in fact, he was forced to attack his arch-enemy simply because if he didn't, then he'd be the one dead! Smiling at the twisted irony, Hannibal does his best to match Bernigan's quick and skilled moves, knowing the whole time that behind his own smile he is not nearly as skilled at swordplay as the man before him.

But somewhere in there Hannibal forgot to count on luck. For when he does make his move, a determined stab at Bernigan, he finds it works. He can feel the end of his sword stick into Bernigan's upper arm. It wasn't a fatal blow--Bernigan had probably felt much worse--but it was a start. And for the moment, it kept the diplomat away from him and it kept the diplomat away from Storm. Now if only Canter could hold out...

"Quick, Crayne," Karelth says into the darkness, "take this!" With that he reaches into his pocket, pulling out his most prized possession, the one that cost him his home and nearly his life: the Ring of Water Command. "You were my student, and now you have far surpassed my skills in the arcane arts. You will be able to control this artifact's powers more than I ever will!"

Crayne hesistates for the moment, but then a loud clang from the battle in the tent behind him reminds him that time was of the essence. With determination, the mage reaches out an invisible hand and takes the ring from his uncle. Slipping it onto his own finger it becomes invisible. He had no idea how to work it, he knew, but if could get some kind of response--any kind of response--perhaps it would be enough to change the course of this battle!

1. HP Status: Canter: 31/36, Alara: 25/26, Crayne: 15/15 + 7 Armor, Elloharin: 16/19, Emma: 31/35, Hannibal: 17/21, Skandor: 17/17, Storm: 35/40, Karelth: 11/11, Delk: 26/38.

2. Current positions: SKANDOR has just finished killing one of the original four Clansmen to approach the eastern group. The other three of those original four are held by Emma's Hold Person spell and will remain so until Turn 119.6. Skandor faces no immediate threat. EMMA is near Skandor and has just finished casting Command on one of three Clansmen in the second group to approach the eastern team. Emma faces no immediate threat. ALARA is fighting against another of the second group of Clansmen to approach the eastern team--he is her immediate threat. ELLOHARIN is kneeling in the grass a few yards away from all this action, having just successfully hit the third member of the second group of Clansmen to approach the eastern team. He is under no immediate threat. DELK has just killed the third Clansman who was in the second group to attack the eastern team. He is under no immediate threat.

CANTER is in the tent fighting against Nalpac, who represents an immediate threat. STORM is not far away, fighting against Slint, who is an immediate threat. And also in the tent is HANNIBAL, who is fighting against Bernigan but also trying to cover Storm's flank. Bernigan represents an immediate threat. CRAYNE is still invisible, and is outside the tent and about fifteen feet away, standing near KARELTH, who has just offered him the Ring of the Water Command.

Three Clansmen are being held by Emma's Hold Person spell, and will remain so until 119.6. Four Clansmen are drifting in and out of sleep due to drinking from the jug into which Crayne poured his sleeping potion. One Clansman is currently surrendered due to Emma's Command spell, but that spell won't last very long. There are about seven more Clansmen in the camp who are awake and scrambling toward various positions. Of these, about three appear to be heading east and about four appear to be heading west (toward the tent). [Please note that this is not meant to be an inclusive list of the positions and actions of all the enemies in the camp. It merely intended to give you an idea of the situation.]

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